Living in the Fridge
Notes: The characters aren't mine and this insanity is. It was inspired by two things: Weird Al Yankovic's song Living in the Fridge, and the Cowboy Bebop episode Toys in the Attic.
It should have been a simple assignment. It would have been, if not for one tiny problem.
Gin knew something was drastically amiss as soon as he entered the house. An overwhelmingly unpleasant odor greeted him and he coughed, covering his nose and mouth with one hand while using the gun in his other hand to turn on the light. He could not determine exactly what the source of the smell was, as it was unfamiliar to him, but he did know that he never wanted to encounter it again.
When Vodka came in after him, he gasped in alarm. "Bro, what happened in here?!" he cried, following Gin's example and covering his nose and mouth.
Gin growled. "I don't know!" he snapped. The parlor and the living room seemed perfectly normal, but as he advanced further into the house, the smell only increased. Then he noticed a long trail of a purple substance across the white carpet.
Vodka gawked at it. "It looks like someone tracked grape jelly in here," he exclaimed, drawing his gun as well.
Gin grunted. "Grape jelly doesn't smell like a . . ." He trailed off, narrowing his eyes as he realized exactly of what the strange odor reminded him. Muttering to himself in disbelief, he stormed through the living room, into the dining area, and from there into the kitchen. Then he stopped short so abruptly that Vodka crashed into him. Ordinarily Gin would have reacted to this, but now he did not. As Vodka followed his gaze, he realized why.
The purple trail continued all the way across the kitchen floor and over to where a supine body was laying on the floor, the arms outstretched. On one was a strange purplish mark, similar to a rash. The person, whom Vodka recognized as their target, had collapsed in front of the open fridge, which was completely adorned on the inside in various shades of fungal green. Long, weblike pieces stretched from one side to the other, and curious objects with fuzzy hair had sprouted throughout. Crawling into the fridge from the bottom was a bizarre blob of what almost looked like pudding. Apparently it had left the trail across the floor.
Vodka swallowed hard, gripping at Gin's arm as he stared at the disaster in front of them. "Bro, I don't think we have to knock this guy off!" he cried. "It looks like the stuff in the fridge already did it!"
Gin was simply gawking, his green eyes wide. "I don't even want to know when was the last time he cleaned out his fridge," he said finally.
The purple pudding, hearing their voices, turned and looked back in their direction. Before it could make them its next victims, Gin shot the fridge door and caused it to swing shut.
The blonde slumped against the kitchen doorframe, shaking his head. "Set a bomb in here," he ordered. "We'll blow the place up before some idiot comes and opens the fridge and sets that thing loose." He watched as Vodka opened the briefcase to get out the bomb. "While you're at it, put one right on the fridge," Gin growled. "Let's not take any chances on it surviving the blast."
Vodka gulped, looking down at the body on the floor. But then he nodded shakily and stepped across it, affixing a bomb to the fridge.
As he stepped back over the form, he noticed something else alarming. "That purple trail is coming to life!" he yelped, pointing at it in horror.
Gin followed his partner's gaze, his eyes widening in shock as the trail began to rise up from the carpet and the linoleum, gaining the shape of a long, deadly snake. Slowly Gin backed away, shooting at it as he did. Pieces of the substance splattered across the wall, counter, and chairs, and then each piece began to crawl forward.
Gin instantly made a decision he would not regret.
"Run for your life!" he yelled, turning to flee out the door.
Vodka immediately chased after his partner, and they barely made it outside as the purple blobs reached the door. Vodka slammed it shut and they dashed down the stairs, arriving at the Porsche just before the bombs' counters reached Zero. Gin yanked the car door open and they both scrambled inside, Vodka following Gin instead of bothering to go in through the other door. The blonde growled in annoyance, but moved over into the passenger seat to allow his partner to get inside. Vodka quickly shut the door after him.
The house then blew up, pieces of debris flying every which way and bouncing off the car. Gin glared at the particles in irritation.
"When was the last time we cleaned out our fridge?" he growled.
Vodka swallowed hard. "I don't remember, bro," he admitted. And suddenly he was very concerned about what they would find in it.
Gin sighed, running a hand through his bangs. "You're already sitting at the wheel," he remarked, "so drive." He pulled the seatbelt down and clicked it into place.
Vodka followed suit before taking out the spare keyring and placing the correct key into the ignition to start it. As the engine turned over, Vodka carefully maneuvered the car off of the property, relieved to be on the road again. "Do you want to check our fridge when we get home, bro?" he asked finally.
"I don't know if we dare," Gin retorted. "But it can't be as bad as his. . . ." He hoped he was right.
In the smouldering space they were leaving behind them, several tiny particles of purple began to gravitate toward each other. . . .